


A Flame in Winter

by enigmaticagentscully



Series: A Flower In Autumn [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Sequel, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 07:58:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13677531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticagentscully/pseuds/enigmaticagentscully
Summary: “It was an absurd thing to be ashamed of. Abby had been happily married to Sir Jacob for some twenty years, and in truth, she had taken great pleasure in that part of married life which many other women spoke of only as a ‘duty’, and had every expectation in taking pleasure in it once again.And yet now, on her wedding night, she found herself beset by a kind of girlish apprehension that she had not felt since she was eighteen years old and newlywed for the first time.”Happy Valentine’s Day everyone! I told y’all I would do this, sorry it’s been such a long time *ahem* coming. This is the promised epilogue to'A Flower In Autumn', my kabby Regency AU, and has absolutely no purpose beyond being pure smut. Enjoy!





	A Flame in Winter

* * *

 

All things considered, thought Abby, the wedding had been a success.

All of Arkadia agreed that the whole thing had been carried off without a hitch – other than the expected, of course. The weather was bright and cold, the sky a crisp, icy blue. The celebrations were widely acknowledged to be everything they should be; generous and merry, but elegantly refined and without undue pomp. The food was of good quality, the ceremony touching and tolerably short. The guests could not have been more pleased at the happy union which it seemed now – as is so often the case at such events – most of them had apparently been anticipating all along. Abby was highly amused at the general opinion put forward to her by many that her marriage to the Colonel had been a sure thing from the start, the two of them being so obviously well matched, and the affection between them so clear.

The exception to this was Mrs Diana Sydney, who delighted instead in declaring her surprise at every opportunity – as indeed she had been doing ever since the engagement was first announced in church with the reading of the Banns – and would certainly continue to do so long after it had ceased to become interesting to her listeners. The difficulty of Mrs Syndey’s position was this: she felt wronged by both Lady Griffin and Colonel Kane in having had no inkling of their romance before anyone else came to hear of it, she therefore did not approve of the marriage on general principles, and yet she could not risk causing genuine offence to either party by making her feelings known. So her continued protestations of utter astonishment at this turn of events was the closet to condemnation she could allow herself to express, and she did so in the hope that those around her might know better to keep her informed of such things in the future.

For her own part, Abby observed this struggle with more pity than contempt. After the Blakes’ arrival in Arkadia and the events afterwards, Diana Sydney’s own importance in the neighbourhood had been significantly reduced, and Abby suspected she felt this loss keenly. Being at the centre of things was Diana’s greatest pleasure, and to be sidelined was horrifying to her.

Perhaps it was only that her own happiness was so complete as to not let anything spoil it, but Abby had become oddly fond of Mrs Sydney in recent times, and had even started to feel a bit sorry for her. She wondered if perhaps the woman’s constant desire to gossip about everyone else was because she couldn’t think of anything interesting to say about herself, and her need to put down others was due to the fact that she knew no-one actually liked _her_ very much.

In any case, being at his wedding hadn’t stopped Mrs Sydney from flirting outrageously with Colonel Kane, but Abby now looked upon this as more highly amusing than any cause for jealousy or offence.

Mrs Sydney aside, the day could not have been more perfect, made more so by the smiles and well wishes of all those Abby knew were truly happy for her and her new husband. Her daughter wore the biggest smile of all – Clarke had made a very pretty bridesmaid; all the more so, Abby considered, due to her anticipating being a bride herself in no great amount of time. It could hardly be denied that her daughter’s smiles were not _all_ for her, and Abby noticed that indeed most seemed directed at a certain gentleman guest, who received them with obvious pleasure.

And now Abby was back at home in her own bedroom at Arkadia Park, preparing for bed. She had given her lady’s maid the night off, primarily because she wasn’t sure she could endure Roma smirkingly trying to put up a front of business-as-usual on her mistress’ wedding night, and partly because...well, she simply wanted to be alone for a little while. Just to collect her thoughts.

She sat at her dressing table as she did every night, taking down the tight curls of her hair. Although tonight she had eschewed her bed jacket and cap, and wore a rather fine new chemise, the familiar routine still helped to calm her a little. As she picked up her brush to attend to her hair, she let her mind drift back to the ceremony. To the man she loved, who was now bound to her as she was to him. Remembering the unfettered joy in his eyes as he had looked at her over their clasped hands, and his warm, steady voice:

_With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow..._

Abby smiled. Well, the ring would take no getting used to, as she had only finally removed Sir Jacob’s wedding band after the engagement had been announced. It had been stranger _not_ to feel a ring on her finger, and Abby was more than content to now be wearing a token of her new husband, especially since most of the ‘worldly goods’ that had been brought to their union had been from her side, not his, given her wealth.

As for the third part of the vow...

Even alone as she was, Abby blushed. She had known Colonel Marcus Kane for most of her life, on and off, and having fallen deeply in love with him she looked upon the future of their marriage together with great happiness, and every expectation of conjugal felicity. They knew each other very well, after all. To live together, to spend their time together, to share their troubles and their joys with each other, to be steadfast partners on the road of life...all of this she had no apprehension of their having any trouble with. But as the day of their wedding had approached, she found her mind had increasingly turned to...well... _other_ aspects of marriage.

It was rather startling the way such musings had begun to consume her of late. Indeed, after spending time with Marcus recently, she often found herself later lying in bed with a mind full of thoughts she was sure _no_ well brought up lady was supposed to think, engaged or not. When she slept, they crept into her dreams as well, and sometimes she had been unable to hide her blushes upon seeing her husband-to-be the next day.

It was an absurd thing to be ashamed of. Abby had been happily married to Sir Jacob for some twenty years, and in truth, she had taken great pleasure in that part of married life which many other women spoke of only as a ‘duty’, and had every expectation in taking pleasure in it once again.

And yet now, on her wedding night, she found herself beset by a kind of girlish apprehension that she had not felt since she was eighteen years old and newlywed for the first time.

Throughout the day she had become increasingly aware of her husband – and how strange to think the word once again! – as a physical presence. The way his hair fell across his brow, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, the way his throat moved when he took a drink. Her gaze kept returning to his broad, strong hands, was captivated by the shape of his lips when he smiled.

In turn, Marcus too seemed to be unable to keep his eyes from _her_. Sometimes when she met his eyes they had drifted from her face to...well, to the _rest_ of her, with such a look that it felt almost as though he were undressing her already.  Abby had been unable to suppress her blushes at the thought, and the mixture of desire and apprehension it stirred in her breast.

The worst part was that she had not been the only one to notice. Clarke’s friend Miss Reyes – a young lady blessed with a great deal more wit than delicacy – had made a passing remark about how lucky it was that they should be married in winter, when the days were so short and the nights so long, and Abby knew that Marcus had heard it by the dull flush appeared on his cheeks, and the way he very carefully forbore to so much as glance her way for the next ten minutes altogether.

Abby lowered her hairbrush and regarded herself in the mirror, catching her lower lip nervously as she tried to imagine what Colonel Marcus Kane saw when he looked at her. She was painfully aware that she was no longer a young woman; her body had borne a child, and the fine laughter lines around her eyes and mouth spoke of many years of joy as another man’s wife. Marcus had fallen in love with her a lifetime ago...was it not possible he would be disappointed now, after having waited so long? Would she please him as she was now? Abby knew him well enough to be sure he would love her regardless, but she couldn’t bear the thought of falling short of his hopes...perhaps she should have said something...

Oh, but she was being ridiculous!

Abby brushed out the curls in her hair firmly until it cascaded in soft, honey brown waves around her shoulders, then looked herself square in the eye in the mirror, setting her chin to a determined tilt. Then she rose from her dressing table and went resolutely to the door, determined to outpace her own nerves.

Arkadia Hall was such that there was no adjoining door between Abby’s bedroom and that of her husband, but there was a private – if somewhat chilly – corridor connecting the two that ensured no awkward encounters for the master and mistress of the house with any guests on a night time stroll. It was traditional, she knew, for the husband to come to the wife on their wedding night, but when had she ever been one for convention? It had always been her way to take action in the face of uncertainty, and patience had never been one of her virtues.

She knocked softly on the door to what was now Marcus’ room.

“Come in,” came the reply, and she did so, entering to see her husband – there, the more she thought the word the easier it came – standing by the window, dressed in his shirtsleeves. He was barefoot, his collar was open and his jacket hung over a chair near the fireplace, where the still-glowing fire filled the room with warmth. He had been looking out over the dark grounds, Abby thought, or perhaps examining his own reflection in the dark glass as she had been doing herself only moments ago. The notion that Marcus might also be somewhat anxious to look his best for her was certainly a comforting one.

He need have no worries on that score, in any case. He looked very well indeed, the flickering firelight playing over the strong, lean lines of his body, casting deep shadows in his thick, dark hair, turning the bared skin of his throat golden. Abby’s heart beat a little faster at the sight of him.

“You’re still dressed,” she said, in lieu of greeting, closing the door behind her to keep the warmth of the room inside.

“You’re...not,” said Marcus, looking a little dazed at her sudden appearance. His eyes drifted over her, taking in her bare legs and shoulders, lingering where her chemise draped softly over the curves of her body.

“Aren’t you cold?” he said.

It was such an unexpected and yet somehow so typically Marcus Kane thing to say that Abby burst out laughing, some of the tension leaving her in the face of overwhelming fondness for the man.

“Yes I am,” she said, smiling a touch coquettishly. “I was hoping you might be able to help me there.”

Marcus crossed the room obligingly and put his arms around her, drawing her close. There followed an extremely pleasant interlude in which no speech at all was required, until Abby drew away a little and somewhat breathlessly said:

“You may want to bolt the door, my love.”

Marcus released her and went to do so, hesitating for a brief but perceptible moment before turning back to face her. The small action seemed tremendous in its significance; indeed the atmosphere of the room had changed entirely with the small sound of the bolt being drawn across. Abby wondered if Marcus too found the air between them had inexplicably become warmer, thicker, and rather less easy to take in with each breath. She found it difficult now to meet his eyes. They both knew what happened next, and all of a sudden she felt rather shy again.

“I hope you are quite comfortable here,” she said, to cover her sudden awkwardness. “I know we’ll be moving to Polis House as soon as Clarke is wed, but I hope this isn’t too inconvenient an arrangement in the meantime.” She examined her surroundings, as much to avoid meeting his eyes as anything. “I’ve always liked this room,” she announced. “Not as nice as mine, of course, but as lady of the house I have to have _some_ privileges—”

“Abby,” said Marcus gently, stopping her mid-flow with the single word. She turned to find him standing very close, looking down at her with a soft expression. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face.

“If I didn’t know better,” he said, “I would say you were nervous.”

Abby felt a blush spread across her cheeks, but forced herself not to break his gaze. “It’s only that...it has been a rather long time,” she admitted.

Marcus smiled. “For me as well.” He leaned down and kissed her softly; the lightest brush of his lips against hers. Then, to her surprise, he chuckled. “You were more at ease trying to seduce me in my own drawing room than you are now that we’re married and have every right to share a bed.”

“I did _not_ try to seduce you!” said Abby indignantly. “You kissed me first!”

“And I would have done so a lot sooner if I’d known the effect it would have.”

Abby glared at him, fighting a smile, knowing he was teasing her in an effort to soothe her nerves, and loving him the more for it. “You can hardly blame me for getting a little...carried away at the time, after kissing me like that, all of a sudden,” she said primly. “If you were a true gentleman you would at least have asked my permission first.”

“Hmm. Abby?”

“Yes?”

“May I kiss you?”

“...you may.”

He did so, cupping her face in his hands and drawing her to him. This kiss was deeper, more emphatic than any they had shared thus far, and Abby found herself melting into the sensation, her lips parting beneath his. When they broke apart they were both breathing rather more rapidly than before, and they allowed their foreheads to rest gently against each other for a moment, in an unconscious gesture that reminded Abby again of the first kiss they had ever shared, in the very drawing room of which they had just been speaking. She recalled now how in that moment she had hardly been able to meet Marcus’ eyes, but now...

She found her nerves had altogether melted away. And what had she to be afraid of? The man who held her in his arms was her dearest friend; someone who would never do anything to hurt her, who loved her as she loved him. In his eyes she saw nothing but affection and warmth, and it seemed perfectly natural – the most natural thing in the world – when he moved to press his lips softly against her jawline, when he tilted her head with gentle fingertips to kiss down her neck.

Abby gave herself over wholly to his tender attentions. Marcus had not allowed himself such liberties since that first day when he had confessed his feelings for her, and Abby felt the same desire she had felt then stir deep within her, a thrilling ripple of expectation. When he brushed his lips lightly along her collarbone, she could not help but let out a little sigh of pleasure.

Marcus raised his head and smiled. “You like it when I kiss you there,” he said softly. It wasn’t really a question, but she answered anyway.

“Yes.” Her voice came out low, husky with longing.

“I remember,” he said, and bent his head again to press kisses against her neck, at the hollow of her throat, across her shoulder. “I’ve been wanting to do it again ever since that moment in the hallway,” he murmured against her skin. “My god, the _sound_ you made...”

Abby shivered as his hands moved to her shoulders, slipping under the straps of her chemise, caressing her bare skin. Marcus raised his head to meet her eyes.

“May I?” he said, and now the echo of his earlier ironic formality took on a new tone; something genuine and longing. Abby nodded, even as she felt the blush return to her cheeks. She wanted this, wanted _him_ , and the way he so plainly wanted _her_ made her feel both bolder and a little shy all at once.

Marcus slipped the loose straps down over her shoulders, until the thin fabric pooled at her feet, baring her to him. There was a heartbeat of stillness and she heard her husband’s breath catch in his throat as he stepped back and saw her for the first time as she was; not Lady Griffin any longer, but simply Abby, stripped of her title and her armour and her lifetime of tightly controlled formality, uncovered before him and unashamed.

For a long moment she thought he might be too overwhelmed to do more than just stare, but then he started forward and Abby gave a rather undignified little squeak of surprise as he swept her off her feet  into his arms and carried her bodily to the bed, depositing her upon it as carefully as was possible.

“Marcus!” she gasped, half laughing at such a gesture. “My goodness, _warn_ me first if our marriage means you’re suddenly going to take to carting me around like a sack of potatoes.”

“My apologies,” grinned Marcus, not looking at all contrite. “I fear I had a sudden urgent desire to admire you properly that could not be suppressed.”

He suited action to words, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her and running his eyes over her from head to toe as Abby sprawled out obligingly under his gaze. She made no effort to cover herself, and felt no embarrassment – and why should she, when he looked at her with such reverent delight, as though she were a miracle made flesh?

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “Even lovelier than I imagined, and I swear I did not think that possible.”

Abby ran an appraising eye over him in return. “You...” she said, “...are _still_ dressed. That hardly seems fair.”

Marcus smiled. “Perhaps you might be able to help me there,” he said.

Abby raised herself to a more upright position on the bed and set herself to the very agreeable task of removing her husband’s clothing. His shirt she took care of without much trouble, flinging it casually away to land somewhere on the floor with a careless air that made Marcus grin. When she had done so she couldn’t resist touching him - trailing her hand down the fine, dark hair of his bare chest, grazing his skin with the tips of her fingers. Marcus made a faint little sound, half sigh and half moan. His eyes closed for a brief moment in pleasure as her touch skimmed the firm muscles of his abdomen before she brought her hand up again to rest with her palm over his heart. It was pounding violently, and Abby smiled at the knowledge that beneath all his playful teasing, his careful reserve, he was as affected as she. She had never seen Marcus Kane so undone before, and she had to admit the effect was very pleasing.

The rest of his clothes presented more of a challenge, but Abby was nothing if not determined, and soon enough they were both naked and Marcus was kissing her fervently, his hands tangled in her hair, pressing her back against the mattress. He propped himself onto one elbow to brace himself over her, his mouth claiming her deeply, passionately, as her hands came up to thread through his thick, soft hair. Abby’s skin tingled expectantly with the warm, vital presence of his body so close to her own, her breasts tightening into stiff little peaks aching to be touched, but though his hands caressed her tenderly, they stayed resolutely above her shoulders.

Abby gave a little hum of frustration against his lips, and Marcus broke their kiss, looking at her questioningly.

“You are my husband now,” Abby said fondly. “You _are_ allowed to touch me.”

Marcus smiled. His eyes were dark with desire, flickering down to roam hungrily over her body. “You are my wife,” he said, “and _you_ are allowed to tell me what you want. I’m yours to command.”

He leaned down, bringing his lips close to her ear. “What is it that you want, Abby?”

“Touch me,” she whispered.

He kissed her once on her lips, feather-light, before moving down to explore the rest of her. He lavished kisses against her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach; soft delicate kisses and long slow kisses and fierce ardent kisses, as Abby’s breath quickened and her pulse fluttered. He kissed the hollow between her breasts. He traced the sharp curve of her hipbone with his thumb. He seemed endlessly fascinated by her, and she thought he might do this all night if he were allowed, mapping every inch of her skin with his mouth and his hands. His touch was tender and affectionate, but there was something almost _possessive_ about it too, as though he were claiming her with every press of his lips, every caress.

Abby was _lost;_ all trace of hesitation or uncertainty seemed a distant memory. She felt soft and languid, melting into the bed with bliss, heat thrumming through her veins and coiling deep in her stomach.  The sweet ache between her legs seemed to pulse with his every touch, and when he drew one of her stiff, tender nipples into his mouth, her whole body arced and trembled at the sensation.

She was dazed by the urgency of her need, the depth of it. She could hardly think for _wanting._

“Marcus...” she whispered, and when he met her eyes she could see the same need reflected there in him, and the truth of it took her breath away. She couldn’t speak the words, couldn’t bring herself to ask for what she wanted, what she _needed_ , but the plea in her voice was clear enough and suddenly his hand was drifting down her body, trailing a path between the heaving swell of her breasts, across the smooth curves of her stomach before coming to rest lightly between her legs. He stroked her gently, tentatively, and Abby gasped at the wonderful shiver of sensation such a light touch elicited.

“Here?”

Abby bit her lip and nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Marcus used his free hand to steady himself above her as he repeated the action, nuzzling light, tender kisses to the soft skin of her neck as his fingers moved, sliding into the slick heat at the core of her. Abby squirmed beneath him, hips tilting upwards to increase the pressure of his touch, and felt him smile against her skin at her impatience.

“Does that feel good?” he said, breath ghosting along the taut lines of her throat.

“ _Yes_ ,” breathed Abby. “Oh _yes_ , that’s so...” Her words trailed off into a strangled moan as his deft fingers found their way to the most sensitive part of her and pressed against it, sending a white hot throb of pleasure to her very core.

“ _Oh_...”

Her head fell back against the pillow as wave after wave of pleasure swept though her, leaving her breathless, panting. Her hands scrabbled for purchase and curled tightly around the bedsheets, knuckles white, and though she bit down harder and harder on her lower lip she could still hear, as if from a distance, the frantic little moans that escaped her throat.

Marcus was kissing the sensitive skin behind her ear, his tongue grazing the throbbing pulse beneath her skin. “Would you like me to finish you like this?” he murmured.

The mere sound of his voice was almost enough; low and rough with barely restrained desire. The knowledge that simply bringing her pleasure was enough to arouse him to such a degree only made her want him more, and she hadn’t thought that possible.

“Or would you like me to kiss you there as well?” Marcus suggested, his voice catching a little on the words.

Abby let out a very unladylike whimper at the thought of it; his head between her legs, his tongue gliding along the wet, pulsing heat at her core, his lips sucking at her desperately sensitive nub...God, she wanted it so badly she was almost faint with it, but...

It took all Abby’s strength to shake her head. “No,” she gasped. “You’re my husband now...I want _you_. I want to feel you.” She slipped her hand between his legs, making her meaning clear. “ _Please_ , Marcus.”

Whether it was her words or the effect of her fumbling touch, Marcus let out a helpless moan and surged forwards, pinning her between his arms and capturing her mouth with his own in a fierce, urgent kiss. Abby slid her arms around his back and hitched her leg up to his flank, urging him on without words. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the effort of restraint tensing the muscles of his broad shoulders under her hands. Though he devoured her eagerly with his kiss, his hand was gentle as he reached down to caress her leg, easing their position, and pushed himself slowly inside her.

 Abby cried out as he filled her, half faint with pleasure and the sheer carnal, physical sensation of it, almost at the verge of sobbing with relief for this feeling she had thought lost forever to her. _Oh_ , but she had missed this. To feel the man she loved inside her, to be known in such an intimate way, to be loved so absolutely and completely.

 _Oh Marcus._ The sound of his soft, fervent groans of bliss as he moved, his broad, calloused soldier’s hands holding her with such exquisite gentleness, the warm, masculine scent of his body in every breath she took. He was here. He was _hers._ They kissed fiercely, desperately, like drowning souls gasping for air. It was good, oh God it felt _so_ good like this; to have him so completely, the two of them entwined, inseparable, every movement of their bodies thrumming and incandescent with sensation...there was nothing in the world but this, the rolling surge of muscle and soft, yielding flesh, clutching hands and muffled cries and pleasure so intense it was almost unbearable.

Abby felt the rising tension inside her, rapture that threatened to spill over with every urgent thrust of his hips against hers, every stroke sending her higher and higher, not quite to the peak, making her gasp and writhe beneath him. Marcus slid his hand between them to swell her pleasure as she keened with need, desperate for release. He was close to crisis too, she could feel it in every taught line of his body, hear it in his panting, ragged breaths.

“ _God_ ,” he moaned, his face buried in her shoulder. “Oh God, _Abby..._ ”

It was the sound of his voice, raw and desperate as he spoke her name that pushed her over the edge. With one last thrust the mounting pressure inside her suddenly swelled to fill her whole world and _burst_ ; Abby’s back arched off the bed as she came with a cry so soft it was hardly more than a whimper. Wild, glorious waves of pleasure blossomed through her body as she pulsed around him again and again, fingernails digging into his skin where she clutched his shoulders, lost in sweet, shuddering bliss.

She felt him release into her a moment later, her name falling from his lips again like a prayer, hoarse and reverent, his hips pressing urgently into hers.  Abby clung to him as he all but collapsed on top of her, both of them panting and spent, slick with sweat.

Presently, Marcus let out a somewhat breathless but very heartfelt groan. “I’m squashing you,” he murmured, making to shift slightly. “Sorry.”

Abby made a little noise of protest and tightened her arms around him. “No, I like it,” she said. The hot, heavy weight of him was pressing her into the mattress, but she couldn’t bear the thought of losing it all the same. “I like you right here,” she said drowsily. “I like you.”

Marcus chuckled, and she felt the sound reverberate through his body where it was pressed against hers.

“I like you too,” he said. “Very much.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “But I like you better not squashed as flat as a pancake.”

Abby grumbled a little but made no effort to stop him as they carefully disentangled themselves. Marcus dropped back against the bed with a soft exhalation of contentment, and Abby immediately curled up around him, draping an arm possessively across his chest.

There they stayed, as their breaths evened and their heartbeats slowed to a more steady rhythm. As glorious as their union had been, Abby wondered that she might like this even better – lying entwined with Marcus in sleepy, sated harmony, their bodies warming each other. Even now, wrapped around each other in the most intimate embrace, he couldn’t seem to stop touching her; his hand gently stroking her bare arms, or down her back, his head dipping every now and again to press a kiss onto her hair. There was nothing erotic or purposeful about his caresses – he touched her as though he were trying to commit every part of her to memory, as though he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

Perhaps he did not. He had dreamt of this, she knew, for far longer than she.

“Can I ask you a question, darling?” she said suddenly.

The epithet slipped out with hardly a thought, but the look of surprise and delight that spread across Marcus’ face as he looked at her made her blush all the same.

“Anything,” he said softly.

 “Why did you ask me to dance at the Sinclairs’ ball?”

Marcus didn’t seem particularly thrown by the question, but he did think about it for a few moments before answering.

“In a word: whim.”

Abby couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh dear, I knew it! And there I was thrown into such a confusion, trying to determine your motives. All along it was a passing fancy, after all.”

“Hardly _passing_ ,” protested Marcus. “It was a fancy of a great many years, just a whim that made me finally act upon it.” He grinned. “And perhaps a sympathetic desire to let you escape Mrs Sydney for a moment, since you looked as if you were about to murder her, if I recall.”

“Oh, sheer gallantry then. Mrs Sydney will be most flattered that you took such a drastic step to ensure her safety.”

Marcus kissed her soundly in lieu of a reply, an action which quite effectively put paid to their conversation for several enjoyable minutes.

“If you want the truth,” said Marcus, when speech was again possible. “I honestly don’t believe I ever really expected you to say yes. I spent the rest of the evening in quite a love-struck haze, I assure you.”

Abby smiled. “I find that hard to imagine.”

“Just ask my mother. She seemed to find the whole thing very amusing.”

“I’ll add her to the growing list of people who seemed to have had great entertainment at our expense then,” said Abby. “I won’t repeat to you what my housekeeper said when I mentioned our engagement to her, but I can tell you she did not even bother to feign surprise. And to hear Clarke talk anyone would have thought I was openly pining after you for months. It really is absurd.”

Marcus gave a soft hum of pleasure. “Oh I don’t know,” he said. “I rather like the sound of that. You pining after me.”

“It’s ridiculous,” said Abby, and then in the silence that followed wished more than anything that she hadn’t. “Oh, Marcus...” she sighed. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean...”

“It’s alright,” said Marcus, with a wry smile. “It _is_ a little ridiculous, in truth.”

“No, it isn’t, it’s...it’s...”

But Abby didn’t have the words. She suspected she never would; that nothing would ever be able to express the gratitude and the sorrow and the tender pain she felt when she thought of Marcus having harboured such quiet, unwavering devotion to her for so many years. It was still in some ways too wonderful and too terrible a truth to know, and she was painfully aware that he had made every effort not to let it trouble her. She wished things had been different for him...and yet she wouldn’t have had them any other way. It was a paradox of feeling that she was certain she would not be able to untangle for the rest of her days.

“All that time and I never knew, never even suspected...” she whispered. “Can you ever forgive me for that?”

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

“I caused you so much pain...”

“And it was worth every second,” he said, cutting her off firmly. “You have made me happier than I ever imagined I could be.” He rolled onto his side to face her, moving his hands to caress her face tenderly. “You are my wife,” he murmured. “And you are in my bed and in my arms and...” He grinned suddenly, the corners of his eyes crinkling before he planted a brief kiss on her lips. “...you are utterly, _gloriously_ naked. I cannot regret a single part of my life that has led me to this moment.”

Abby let out an unwilling breath of laughter, and nestled closer into his embrace, tucking her head against his shoulder as Marcus pulled the bedclothes over them, cocooning them in warmth. Blissful as this moment certainly was, even so, Abby could not help but feel a brief irrational pang for the thought that she might never have had this. That had things been but a little different...she might never truly have known the man who now held her so securely in his arms – not the distant and reserved Colonel Kane, but Marcus, _her_ Marcus, the man he became only when they were alone; affectionate and playful and loving, with his warm eyes and his gentle touch and the particular smile he seemed to reserve only for her. She might never have known the pleasure of having him in her bed, the joy of loving him, and knowing that he had given his heart to her so willingly in return.

“I love you,” she murmured, knowing that the words would never be enough.

Marcus must have guessed something of her thoughts, for he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, and squeezed her affectionately.

“Don’t think too much on our past, my love, if it distresses you,” he said softly. “This is our wedding night. Think instead of the future.”

Abby did so, and for the first time in as long as she could remember – drifting into a contented sleep in her husband’s embrace – she found she was able to contemplate the prospect with complete and perfect happiness.

 

* * *

 

_fin_


End file.
